


Blah Blah Blah

by 6xqb9u004n



Series: Eskild Appreciation Week [2]
Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Angst, Family Issues, Missing Scene, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-13 01:57:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11749713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/6xqb9u004n/pseuds/6xqb9u004n
Summary: Eskild finds Isak blackout drunk at a gay bar at 2am.





	Blah Blah Blah

“Anyways, after all the crazy hazing, I really felt a bond between me and the rest of my pledge class, and I started to understand the whole brotherhood thing, y’know?”

Eskild nods, though he has positively no idea what the hunky American exchange student is going on about. Eskild always got top marks in English, but even he is lost tonight. But the American, whose name is Luke, is very attractive, so Eskild pretends to know what the hell he means when he talks about “frats” and “mixers” and randomly throws around Greek letters.

“That is just so…,” Eskild pauses, searching for the right word, “fascinating. We have absolutely nothing like that in Norway.”

“Yeah and my brothers are totally cool with the whole gay thing, which is awesome,” American Luke takes another sip from his beer and Eskild raises his wine glass, a small toast to the forward-thinking brothers of the so-called Lambda Delta Chi.

Eskild wonders how long it’ll be before they can stop the chit chat and head back to his place. It’s nearly 2am and he’s tired and horny and just wants to go home. Of course, he’s not too tired to have sex. He never is.

“Looks like someone’s had too much to drink,” American Luke gestures at a guy behind Eskild.

He turns and sure enough, there’s a boy collapsed at the bar, his head resting on his arm next to several empty glasses of beer and a few shot glasses thrown in for good measure.

“Looks a bit young, don’t you think?”

“The drinking age in Europe is 18…” Eskild starts to say but his voice drifts off as he squints to get a better look of the person. He seems vaguely familiar, but Eskild can’t quite place his face. American Luke was right though, the guy _did_ look young. Eskild decides he’s just another random face he’s seen before on the street or on Grindr or while scrolling through Instagram --

Instagram.

“Oh my God,” Eskild says, his dropping slightly. “I think I know him.” Without thinking, he sets down his glass and starts heading towards the boy, ignoring American Luke whining in protest. “Give me a second,” Eskild waves a hand, as if to shoo him away. “I’ll just make sure he’s alright and be right back.”

Eskild reaches the boy and pokes his arm gently. Now that he’s closer, he knows he definitely recognizes that face. “Isakyaki?” Eskild asks tentatively, poking him again. “Isak?” he tries again to get his attention, this time shaking the kid by the shoulder.

It’s Noora and Eva’s little friend from Instagram, the one who they thought was gay. Eskild had tried to chat him up online, but decided that he was just another pretty face wasted on a straight boy. And yet here he is, nearly passed out at a gay bar well past his bedtime.

Isak’s eyes open and he blinks rapidly, trying to focus his vision. “Who’re you?” he mumbles, his words all jumbled together.

“Eskild.” The name doesn’t seem to register in Isak’s head, so Eskild tries again. “From Insta? I live with Noora? Noora Amalie Sætre.”

Isak face twists in confusion. “Oh, Noora,” he taps his temple, looking pleased to have figured it out, and Eskild sighs with relief. Finally, progress.

“Hey, do you have anyone you can call? Someone who can come pick you up?”

Isak shrugs, his eyes closing again, and reaches for a glass. He tries to drink from it and discovers it’s empty. Isak shakes the glass upside down, before setting it down and reaching for the next empty glass. “They’re all fucking empty,” he mutters under his breath.

“I think you’ve had enough, actually,” Eskild attempts to take the empty glass for Isak, who blocks him with his empty hand. Their little struggle ends in Isak dropping the glass, which thankfully doesn’t break, but the noise catches the attention of the bartender. He coolly tells them it’s time to settle the tab and leave.

“Isak, where’s your wallet?” Eskild is getting impatient and he peers over his shoulder to see American Luke, still standing there, drinking beer and looking bored. Eskild holds up a finger and mouths “one minute” before turning his attention back to Isak.

“Oh money? I have money?” Isak says slowly, reaching into his pocket. He dumps a small fistful of coins on the bartop. Eskild smiles weakly at the bartender, who is unimpressed.

“Your little friend owes us 500 kroner.”

“Fucking hell, Isak.” Eskild tries searching for Isak’s wallet himself, but Isak swats at his hand, making it impossible. Finally, Eskild gives up and opens his wallet, fishing out a couple bills and handing them to the bartender before hoisting one of Isak’s arms around his shoulder. “C’mon, Isak. Let’s get you home.”

“No, no home,” Isak mumbles, barely able to stand.

“Be quiet for a sec, will you?” Eskild half-drags Isak toward American Luke, who’s now talking to some other guy, and says, “Let me just put my friend in a cab. I’ll be right back, I promise.” Eskild walks toward the exit, Isak in tow.

“Get off me, Eksild.” The younger boy is surprisingly strong despite his inebriated state.

“Eskild, it’s Eskild.” He doesn’t know why he’s bothering to argue with someone who’s blitzed. They step outside into the cold Oslo night and Isak finally manages to jerk free from Eskild’s grip.

Isak breaks away at exactly the right moment because he hurtles forward, grabbing a lamp post for support before bending over and beginning to vomit profusely into the bush.

“Isak, you really need to get home. What’s your address? I’ll call you a cab.” Eskild waits for Isak to finish puking. Isak wipes his mouth, smearing vomit all over his face.

“Shhhhh,” Isak groans, sloppily shoving his puke-covered hand on Eskild’s face and mouth. Eskild squeezes his mouth shut and tries not to think of the sour smell emanating from Isak’s fingertips. Isak falls to the ground and he sits on the curb, resting his chin in his hands. “No, no home,” he says again. Eskild thinks Isak might be crying but it’s hard to tell in the dark.

Eskild looks down at Isak and then at the entrance of the bar. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he curses before looking back at Isak, who is definitely sniffling. He watches Isak wipe at his eyes with his shirt sleeve. Eskild crouches down next to Isak and places a hand on his back. “Okay, so you can’t go home. Is there anyone else I can call?”

Isak tilts his head away from Eskild, presumably not wanting the older boy to see him cry. “I dunno, Jonas?”

Eskild bites down on his tongue and resists the urge to ask who the fuck Jonas is. But seriously, who the bloody hell is Jonas? A boyfriend? He pulls out his phone and tries calling Noora instead. Voicemail. Eskild tries calling Eva, but like Noora, she doesn’t answer. Eskild stands, coaxing Isak up. “I guess it’s all up to me then. Let’s go, Isakyaki. Let’s get you home.”

Isak groans and is about to start mumbling again, but Eskild beats him to it. “I know, I know. You can’t go home. I’m taking you to _my_ home.”

*

Eskild, through some act of divine intervention, manages to get Isak back to his apartment in one piece. While they’re in the cab, Isak, in spite of all his drunkenness, warns Eskild when he’s about to start puking again, leaving Eskild just enough time to tell the taxi driver to pull over and open the door.

By the time they get to the building, Isak has sobered up somewhat and is even able to walk up the four flights of stairs with minimal assistance. That, of course, doesn’t stop him from puking upon arrival.

Isak’s stomach is finally empty and there’s nothing left to vomit, except stomach acid and saliva. Once Isak finally stops retching, he slumps against the corner of the bathroom wall, his knees pulled up to his chest. He sits there, forearms and head resting against his knees, his face looking pale and miserable.

Eskild offers him a glass of water, which he only accepts after Eskild’s insistence. As Isak reluctantly drinks, Eskild talks. “Listen up, Isakyaki. You can stay here tonight, but after that you gotta go h -- you gotta go to a friend’s place or something, okay?”

Isak doesn’t respond.

*

Eskild, ever the early riser, wakes up hours before Isak. His back is aching and he almost regrets his decision to let Isak take his bed while he slept on the floor. While Isak sleeps, both Noora and Eva text him, asking why he’d called last night and he lies and chalks it up to drunk-dialing.

He’s not sure why he doesn’t tell them the truth but he senses that Isak maybe doesn’t want his friends to know where he was last night. Eskild drinks tea and alternates between watching Isak sleep and scrolling mindlessly through Instagram. He notes that while Isak appears to be sound asleep, he’s a very restless sleeper, turning constantly with his face scrunched up. He mumbles a couple times too, but everything is unintelligible.

It’s past noon when Isak finally wakes. Eskild’s eating a sandwich, made with Noora’s bread and her vegetables too. Isak sits up quickly, unsure of where he is.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Eskild says brightly. “Welcome back to the land of the living.”

“Where am I?” Isak asks, bewildered. “And who are you?”

“I’m Eskild, remember? The person who dragged your drunk ass home last night?”

Isak cocks his head. “Last night? What happened last night?” He wraps Eskild’s blanket around his body tighter. Eskild was able to wrangle Isak’s puke-stained shirt off him, but was unsuccessful in removing his jeans.

“Like I said, you were drunk, I brought you home, blah blah blah,” Eskild waves his hand around, trying to keep the mood light, and takes another bite of his sandwich.

“Blah blah blah,” Isak repeats glumly.

Eskild goes to sit on the edge of his bed. Resting a hand on Isak’s shoulder, Eskild says earnestly, “If you were thrown out, Isak, I just want you to know there’s all types of support for people like us. My parents flipped when they found out I’m gay but they got over it -- ”

“I’m not… I’m not gay!” Isak sputters, “and my parents didn’t throw me out.”

Eskild rolls his eyes. “Isak, you were at a gay bar at 2am and you said you couldn’t go home.”

“I didn’t know it was a gay bar, okay?” Isak throws his hands up as if to surrender. “No one knows I’m here, right?” There’s a slight panic in his voice.

Eskild sighs. “Don’t worry your pretty little head, Isakyaki. Your secret’s safe with me. But if your parents didn’t throw you out, then why…” Eskild watches Isak tense up and look away. He can tell Isak’s trying very hard not to cry, but his eyes, getting red and watery, betray him.

“Mamma’s crazy and pappa’s a fucking coward and I can’t…” Isak’s hands ball up into fists and he exhales shakily. “I can’t fucking take it anymore,” he finally says. “I just can’t.”

Eskild opens his mouth to ask one of the million questions running through his head but he stops. It’s one of those rare moments when even Eskild is at a loss for words.

 

*

Eskild ends up letting Isak stay. At first, he refuses a dozen times, but eventually gives in when Isak sighs and asks for his shirt back. He’s pathetically pulling his vomit-covered shirt over his head when Eskild changes his mind. The kid’s pout is surprisingly effective, and Eskild finds himself rummaging through the cupboard to find some clean sheets, a blanket, and a pillow. He throws a clean shirt at Isak’s head and tells him to follow him.

They sneak downstairs to the basement that a live-in custodian once occupied, back when the building was nice and new. There’s a mattress that looks clean enough and a wooden chair. It’s not much, but Isak’s face lights up at the sight. His home life must’ve really been shitty, Eskild reckons.

“It’s nothing permanent, but you can stay here until you figure something else out.”

Isak, who has already flopped down on the mattress looks up at Eskild. “Thanks, Eskild,” his voice is quiet and filled with a strange shyness. “I mean it.”

“Yeah, well, I would’ve done it for any of Noora’s friends,” Eskild tries to sound casual, but truthfully he’s not sure if he would’ve ditched an extremely hot guy at a bar to babysit a drunk first year. “And by the way, Mr. Isakyaki, you owe me about 500 kroner.”

  


**Author's Note:**

> This is just my rendition of what happened that fateful night. A bit of a downer, but my next fic in this series will be much more light-hearted. As always, hope you enjoyed.


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